


On Andy on Patrick

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: First Time, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Yeah, so, the thing is, I thought you preferred studying with the ladies...I didn't think you belonged to Pete's School of If It Moves, Kiss It."</i> [From recipient's request: <i>Coming on tattoos, lip biting, First times</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	On Andy on Patrick

**Author's Note:**

> Written for nightmare_xmas@livejournal.com.

_On Andy:  
“But hark! My pulse like a soft drum / Beats my approach, tells thee I come.”  
-Henry King_

When they're on-stage, Andy is probably the only person Patrick never sees regularly, unless he turns right around. Out of the corner of his right eye, he might spot Pete spinning in his giddy circles (not exactly _now_ , asshole went and destroyed his fucking ankle, jeez) and out of the corner of his left eye, there's Joe. And Joe's 'fro. Sometimes, he likes to have friendly conversations with Joe's 'fro in his head. He asks about the wife and kids, The 'Fro asks about the last time he got laid. They're good old buddies.

But, unless they stick him at a different location, he rarely sees Andy; he'll see him when they do the high-fives, he'll see him when he turns around to make eye-contact and count-off, he _might_ see him when Pete is doing his yelling thing and Patrick can just relax for a little bit, out of that hot spotlight. And it's very hot. Believe that one. He never sees Andy when it matters, though; not when he's in front of the crowd and listening to himself in the ear-piece and making sure his breathing is correct and deep. He can't see him when he has to close his eyes and fucking _concentrate_.

But he doesn't need to. He doesn't need to _see_ , not if he can _hear_ what Andy is doing. And Andy knows what he's doing, alright? He remembers when Pete told him, casually, you know? Like it was nothing: "Hurley's gonna be drumming for awhile."

He had to be cool about it: "Which Hurley? Oh, Andy? The one you were with in Racetraitor?" As if he didn't know. Which _other_ Hurley? Fuck, man. He was sure that there were stars shining in his eyes at just the _thought_ of the drummer and Hurley wasn't even there as yet. Pete had looked at him as if he wanted to laugh, but he didn't. He just nodded and wriggled around in that nonsensical way he had and then walked off. Patrick never really got over the way Pete moves, as if his body is rebelling against what he wants it to do.

A few times, he wonders what they'd be like without Andy. At least, _he_ wouldn't have that exciting twist in his stomach when Andy does simple things like laugh with him, even _now_ (because his sister always said when he falls, he falls hard) but on the upside, although it is _super_ -clichéd to say that Andy is so like his drumming, it is also extremely true. Steady. Dependable. But seriously, with a person like Pete, they really needed someone on the other end of the spectrum to balance that shit out. When Pete says, "Oh fuck me, let's try this," Andy will say, "Sure, just make sure you don't kill yourself. I'm watching you, Wentz. No, seriously. I am."

He is.

How angry he was after Best Buy! Patrick couldn't figure out who Andy was more mad at, Pete or himself. When Pete came back, all downcast eyes and smiles that made Patrick think of hairline fractures, Andy dragged him off, just the two of them. It wasn't very far, it was just to Pete's room, but Patrick had heard Andy talking in that slow, considering way he had; he couldn't really hear most of the words, just their voices and underneath the calm of Andy's speech was a thread of disappointment. Pete's voice had been laughingly defensive at first, but Andy had battered down _that_ façade with that insistent, inexorable voice, like waves beating against stone.

"Trust me to be your friend, man," Patrick had heard him say as he left the room, still looking back at Pete, who was sitting on his bed, contemplating the Transformers quilt. "Trust me to trust you."

He had turned and found Patrick standing there at the top step, probably looking as if he wanted to turn and flee, escape the fact that he didn't save Pete and maybe he wasn't supposed to. He had thought that _that_ had been his purpose and he'd been so fucking wrong; and this, this was just the end of the line for everything. Andy had given him that small smile, the one that tilted up just one side of his mouth and didn't really seem to reach that coolness in his eyes, and simply said, "Go on in."

His eyes had challenged Patrick, who bit his lip and stared at Andy. _Go in, dude. It's still Pete. Go on in._

He had gone in and it had been... pretty horrible. He and Pete had been trying so hard to fall back in that easy two-step rhythm and it just wasn't _there_ , until Patrick remembered Andy's cool eyes and what they said.

 _It's still Pete._

It had been much better after that.

*

The first time Andy kissed him, Patrick doesn't really count it. Okay, so he does and he doesn't. The first time happened in a loud and slightly confusing game of Truth and Dare that Mixon had started; Patrick was completely bemused when, on his way from his room on the bus to the tiny kitchen for a drink, he felt Andy snag him in the crook of his elbow and spin him around.

"Hey," Andy said. "Help me out, here."

"Okay, what," Patrick tried to say, but Andy had leaned forward and pressed his lips quite firmly against Patrick's. Patrick had opened his mouth to demand an explanation for all this, and to tell Andy that his fucking beard was all itchy. Then Andy had slipped him some _tongue_ and Patrick heard someone make a hungry whimper; he was a little bit mortified to realize that it was himself.

He had stared at Andy as he had stepped back, his eyes fixed on Patrick's mouth. Patrick had inhaled deeply and given a shaky smile, sure that hopeful delight was shining out of his entire face. Fucking _damn_ it. He'd have to cover this over, and quick.

"So." Patrick gave him a lopsided smile. "Um. This is the way you should greet me from now on, as a gesture of our friendship and overall dude-ness. No, I insist. Do it on-stage, make sure you coordinate with Pete."

"Seriously, he should," Matt had laughed, and then he groaned when Andy held out his hand, waggling his fingers imperiously. "Dude, I said ten seconds."

"It was." Andy looked impatient and amused at the same time, his eyes fixed for a few moments on Patrick before staring Matt down. "I was counting." He _had_ been, too; His fingers had been tapping at Patrick's elbow. "Come on, Mix, cough it up."

Matt had bitched about it until Andy had laid on some choice punches and he had scrambled about, braying that violent laugh as Andy tackled him to the sofa and fished a handful of crumpled bills out of the pockets of his basketball shorts. He had thrown Patrick a long, unreadable look (most of Andy's expressions were unreadable, but this seemed more inscrutable than usual) and had gone out of the bus, leaving Patrick trying to remember what he had come out of his room for.

Matt said, "Next time, I'm going for a full minute."

*

"Sorry about that," Andy said to him later, perched up on the wide counter in the dressing room. Patrick was humming and gave him a quick, uncertain smile through the smooth sound, getting ready to throw all the switches, fire up all the engines and trying to flip through his mental catalog of Warm-Up Tunes; with Andy so close, he felt like doing a little Usher, actually. Andy stretched out one foot and poked him in the butt affectionately with one sneaker. Patrick swatted his foot away; Andy always liked poking people with his foot, particularly people he liked. If he kicked a person in the shin, that was a declaration of undying devotion.

"Hmm? What did you do again?" Maybe he'd try _Nice and Slow_. He was staring at Andy's legs, something he did all the time when he thought Andy wasn't looking. He only realized that he was fixating on the fine hairs against pale skin when Andy started rocking the left one back and forth, thumping the heel of his sneaker gently against the surface of the worn cupboards.

"Assaulted your person without provocation."

"Break that down for me."

"The _kiss_ , man."

Patrick went still for a full beat and then blinked at him, looking at those sharp eyes behind his glasses; he shook himself a little, laughing nervously.

"Well. See... being kissed wasn't the problem, I guess. I like being kissed." He very nearly said _and always by you would be quite awesome_ , and he barely managed to refrain. How awfully corny that would have been.

Andy raised his eyebrows at that. Patrick fought down a curiously strong impulse to blush, something he had not done since he had been saying goodbye to his teenage years and was still unable to hide his reaction at the fact that Andrew Hurley was seated, quite nonchalantly, on the riser _right behind him_. Andy was still looking in his face with his eyebrows arched and Patrick wished that Pete and Joe were here already, just to diffuse whatever was going on.

"So. There _was_ a problem."

"Um. Yes?" Patrick vocalized a little, _ah_ 's and _oh_ 's and _oooh_ 's, running up and down the scales. Andy began to rotate his wrists slowly.

"What was it?" Andy was looking at him with a sort of clinical interest, using one hand to press against the back of the other, stretching his arms out. "I'm a good kisser, you know. I've studied the ways of the Mouth."

"Yeah, so, the thing is, I thought you preferred studying with the ladies." Andy looked at him blankly. "I didn't think you belonged to Pete's School of If It Moves, Kiss It."

"Sooooo... that is what this really is about," Andy mused, putting his palms together as if he was praying, elbows raised and and pressing in. "It's not about me kissing you. It's about you liking it."

Patrick's blush escaped from his tentative hold on it.

"Yeah," he said, a little stiffly. "I didn't say that. But, yeah. Okay. But... just. The _band_ , dude."

 _Right_. As if _the band_ was at the foremost of his thoughts when he was stroking himself with quiet urgency in the bus or hotel room, Andy's mouth the main feature in his mental movies, or those calm eyes, or even just the contemplation of how that hair might feel dragging over the damp skin of a bare shoulder. Sure; he was definitely thinking of the band then. Good show, Patrick Stump.

"How long have you wanted me to kiss you?" Andy asked steadily and it was so out of the blue and yet hit so dead on the mark that Patrick felt a little dazed. "Forget that. Come here."

"What? We have... we have this thing called a show, man--"

"Get over here."

Patrick made a face, but he still made his way over, standing close to Andy's legs and folding his arms, hoping that the only expression on his face was exasperation. Andy's knees parted and strong hands grasped onto his shoulders, pulling him right in between the slim legs, so quickly that Patrick lost his balance a little and was forced to unfurl his arms, grabbing onto Andy's waist for support. Andy's enigmatic smile was back in full-force as he leaned down.

Patrick didn't know how his hands reached up to splay flat on Andy's warm chest, but as Andy's mouth brushed questioningly against his lips, he could feel the steady two-four pulsation of Andy's heart under his fingers, anchoring him down to this strange moment that'd he'd been thinking about for, oh, maybe since he had first met Andy and had realized his confusing crush had been very justified.

 _thump-Thump, thump-Thump_. His fingers could almost curl around the rhythm and he parted his lips to see if he could... he could _mold_ himself to it, the way Andy's drumming molded itself against his back when they were on the stage, sliding between his shoulder-blades and controlling his own heartbeat. He exhaled as Andy dipped his head even more, nipping at his bottom lip and then running his tongue experimentally right against where he had given those quick, small bites, as if he was soothing the skin there. Patrick breathed in deep, opening his mouth, inviting him in as Andy slid an dry, calloused hand around the back of his neck and squeezed a little, tilting their heads and pressing his bony knees against Patrick's sides, trapping him wonderfully. Steady beat against his palms, Andy's tongue tripping _doublestrokeroll_ against his and he was just ready to press in closer when the door to the dressing room was pushed open partway and Pete's voice floated in.

"And then the dude threw that shit out--" Pete tumbled inside in mid-speech, took one look at Patrick pulling away from Andy with his face aflame, and stared with his mouth open. Since he was at the head of whatever large column of people tended to trail him nowadays, like fire-ants on a march, he was unceremoniously pushed forward, Joe pressing in to gape at them as well. The security guys grumbled behind them, not seeing the reason for the blockade, their bulk preventing everyone else as well.

"We're ready, right?" Andy asked mildly, hopping off the counter; he pressed his fingers to Patrick's wrist before balling his fist to punch him lightly on the shoulder and then grabbing his sticks. Pete's eyes were large and even as Patrick watched, rubbing the back of his neck where he could still feel the heat of Andy's palm, the look in those brown eyes became knowing.

"Alright, then." Pete's voice was casual, as if they were wrapping up a polite conversation instead of him walking in on two of his band-mates kissing. "Finished warming up?"

"Um-hmm," was all Patrick had the power to say at that moment as everyone else came piling in, gazing at them curiously. Pete and Joe remained at the door, glancing at each other before looking back at them. Matt had joined them there and seemed to be on the verge of bursting into laughter, which was the Mixon response to nearly every situation. Andy was looking at his reflection in the mirror, blithely pulling a hand through his hair. It was entirely unreal.

"I lost a lighter, man," Joe said in non-sequitur, still blinking at them. "Seen it?"

"Nope." Patrick was hoping against hope that his mouth wasn't too puffy and red, but the way Andy's eyes swept over his face as the activity in the room bustled into levels of crazy around them, his normally reserved expression was heated, and Patrick found that he didn't really mind.

***

 _On Patrick:  
“Any problem you can't solve with a good guitar is either unsolvable or isn't a problem.”  
-Unknown_

Andy had always thought he was pretty self-sufficient enough not to feel wistful at sight of an intriguing relationship, but there was something about the Pete and Patrick Association that just made _everyone_ feel as if they were lacking something.

Patrick, he assumed, was what everyone was missing out on.

He seriously hoped that Pete didn't take Patrick for granted. Really. What Patrick did with Pete's jumbled, albeit directly lovely words, was nothing short of amazing. He'd never think he'd migrate from the hard-core side of life to whatever over here was... and like it.

He'd known all about Patrick's crush on him. It was cute. The way kittens are cute, all big eyes and curious faces and sharp little claws when they were underestimated. He'd been flattered and amused, then strangely bereft when Patrick's shy attention seemed to fade and their interactions had solidified into a dependable friendship. He could be friends with Patrick, easy; he was one of Andy's best friends, reliable, clever Patrick... who probably had the prettiest mouth on this part of the planet. It was... just amazing, that mouth.

Once, he had snapped awake from a dream involving Patrick's mouth, his cock and a lot of hot, wet suction; he'd spent the day being abnormally chilly to Patrick, because the only other option would have been to drag him out of the studio and into a dark room somewhere. That might have been disastrous, because Pete had been feeling territorial that week, that hazy, floating week when they still were plucking their songs out of that dream-like place where they had sown them and had left Patrick to tend them carefully. To do that would have everyone cranky and Andy hadn't been in the mood.

Patrick had looked at him with concern as they took a quick break, Joe stealing one of Pete's sandwiches and scarfing it down so fast that Pete didn't even have time to snatch at it. As they ignored Pete's howls of indignation, Patrick perched beside Andy on the squashy old couch in the back of the studio and looked at him closely.

"What are you mad at now? Is it civilization again? I promise you, one day it will be wiped away. I swear on this guitar." Patrick dropped him a ridiculous wink that involved his whole face and plucked a deep note on the instrument.

"I'm not mad at civilization," Andy had gritted out, torn between laughing almost reflexively at Patrick's teasing, and kicking him in the ribs, just to make him know that Andy was _right here_ , dammit, just in case he missed it. "At least. Not right now."

"Well, whatever you're mad at... um. See, you can decide you're going to sit and mope over it and ruin my day, because you're just _destroying_ my aura with the bad vibes. I'm serious, no joke," he intoned as Andy cracked a smile against his will. "Or! Or, you know. We'll make music into a Force of Doom. With me on this?"

"With you on anything," Andy had said instantly and Patrick bit his bottom lip as he smiled. Fuck; he would throw Pete over a cliff if Patrick asked him to do it while smiling like that. Maybe throw Joe, too, dude was lighter than he looked. Pete, unaware of his imminent demise over a cliff, was currently on the ground, trying to strangle a laughing Joe and Patrick was chuckling right beside him, leaning against his bare side.

"Don't kill him, Pete," Patrick gasped out, the material of his t-shirt transferring the heat of his body to Andy. "Don't kill him, I need him to do stuff."

"My.... fucking.... _sandwich_ ," Pete ground out and yelled as Joe tumbled him off and escaped out the door, scrambling after him and screeching. Patrick had jumped out of the sofa and barreled after them, laughing wildly all the way and Andy simply wasn't feeling out-of-sorts anymore.

Patrick had that effect on people.

Like that time when Pete had done the pill thing. In a fucking parking lot, what the hell. Andy had been literally vibrating with rage and disappointment, because if there was a problem, if there was _ever_ a problem, what were his friends here for? Pete didn't need to pull himself away into a spiral, grimly trying to crash. He didn't even remember what he had said in Pete's room; he only had a memory of looking at Pete's bent, defeated head, feeling him tense and then relax a little as Andy had placed a hand on his shoulder. He knew he had left the room wondering if there was something more he could do and there was Patrick on the top of the staircase, his mouth pulled into a taut line.

He clearly recalled that feeling of sheer relief coursing through him, because Patrick was _here_. It would all be well again. Patrick, of course, looked unsure, but that was the whole point, wasn't it? Patrick helped without knowing the difference he would make. That was the essence to being Patrick.

*

 _On Andy on Patrick  
Music is love in search of a word.  
~Sidney Lanier_

Of course, there were other things to being Patrick. Like that mouth; which was why he had smiled so delightedly when Mix had dared him to kiss Patrick on the bus.

Smiled like a _wolf_ , man; and he had had good reason, because that first kiss had been awesome. But the _real_ first kiss, the one where he had allowed himself to literally feast on that warm, plump mouth... to tell the truth, he'd always thought it a laughable cliché when someone claimed that the world simply stopped as they kissed someone worth kissing, but he had actually checked his watch while they were going on-stage, just to see if time had the gall to keep moving while he was kissing Patrick.

Time still cheerily skipped along as he lay in his room on the bus so much later, his mind turning over everything like a curious child would do to large flat stones on a beach. When he finally found he had been thinking far too much, he simply got up and went out.

Mixon was snoring lightly on the longest sofa in the lounge, snuffling when Andy tugged the game controller out of his loose grasp and turning over with a low mutter. Andy paused, staring down at Mix without really seeing him, then went to push at Patrick's barely closed door, squinting owlishly at the soft light that spilled over him, as forgiving as the voice of a guitar; Patrick was kneeling in his bed, right at the head of it where it was shoved against the slightly curved wall of the bus. He had one paper clutched in one hand and a red pencil in the other, looking like some crazy genius even without his glasses, and spoiling the effect completely with a soft knitted cap pulled low over his head. He was dressed in a plain blue t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, seemingly over-dressed in comparison to Andy, who was clad simply in a pair of boxers.

He looked up in surprise and licked his lips as Andy closed the door and leaned back on it; licked them _so_ slowly and then caught the lower one in between his teeth. Before Andy even knew what he was doing, he was crawling across the interminable surface of the bed, advancing on Patrick and literally pouncing. Papers were pushed away as Andy loomed over him, pressing him back against the wall and swallowing Patrick's question with a deep kiss. Patrick wasn't the first boy he'd ever kissed, not at all; but he was the first _person_ Andy had ever kissed with such intent.

It was the most heady thing he'd ever felt.

Patrick must have been protesting mightily, some eons ago, maybe, but now there was a great deal of enthusiasm with which he was returning the kiss, grasping onto Andy shoulders and groaning; that low note that trembled its way into Andy's palm, which was pressed lightly against Patrick's throat, thumb stroking against his jawline, coaxing more of that sound against his skin.

"Wait, oh god, _wait_ ," Patrick moaned, and Andy just kept kissing him, placing small, insistent touches on his cheek and under his ear. Patrick's cute little hat was askew and Andy had just the weirdest urge to _bite_ the ends of that red-blond hair, to twist lockets of it around his fingers and see if he could coax the strands to strum out his favorite chords. "What--" Patrick tried to continue, but he really seemed to be distracted by the way they were kneeling right up on the bed, pressed so tight against each other from chest to thigh that Andy felt the hard line of Patrick's cock burrowing against his own. He shifted, and Patrick's strong fingers on his bare shoulders tightened painfully.

Andy actually _liked_ that.

Patrick pulled away in desperation; he actually turned his face to one side, gasping like a drowning man, his face red, wisps of sweat-damp hair clinging to the pale skin. Andy moved his hands, one of which had been placed flat against Patrick's collarbone, the other had been slipping up Patrick's t-shirt, and placed them on Patrick's waist.

"Here's the thing," Patrick said in a tight voice, his eyes closed. "This would kinda break my heart if you were just fucking around. You know, the way you _do_. Break it just a little." He paused, a weak grin trying to surface on his face. "Or a lot. Depends on the day. Tuesdays are bad for my health."

"Hmm." Andy just licked the line of throat available to him. Patrick shivered. "Okay. If I do that, you can kick my ass."

Patrick's laugh was just as feeble as his smile had been.

"I'll get Mixon to do it."

"You can do that too." Andy stared at the way his face had gone still and hard. He sighed and pressed his forehead against Patrick's cheekbone. "I don't know what's going on."

"What?"

"I don't."

"You're supposed to."

"I know. But sometimes it's hard to concentrate when you feel a serious urge to spend a lot of time with one of your best friends... _sexually_. Hey, don't do that," he scolded as Patrick made a noise and tried to pull away.

"It's out of sync," Patrick muttered, pushing at Andy's chest. "I've already gone past the stage where all I wanted to do was crawl into your skin every four seconds, not saying that that isn't a sweet option now, but it's not the _only_ one, you know and hey, how about the fact I wanted to get busy _with another dude_ at a time where I thought I was pretty much settled in one region, something that you don't seem to be having a big problem with. I don't think you ever did. Dude. Just. What?"

He glared at Andy, who had started to struggle with laughter in the middle of Patrick's rant. He tried to push him off, but Andy held on, still chuckling soundlessly.

"I don't have many inhibitions," he finally whispered into Patrick's ear. "You know this. By the way, who says _get busy_ anymore?"

"Ok." Patrick said, his voice completely flat. "Look. This... this is not going work, is it? Fine. I have some stuff to do, lots of stuff, I guess. We can get up in the morning, have a good laugh, get over this and we'll all be good."

"There are a couple of problems with that," Andy mused and he manhandled Patrick until they were lying flat on the bed, facing each other... at least, _he_ was on his side, propped up on his elbow and looking into Patrick's face; Patrick on his back, pillow under his head and looking as if he was mentally digging his heels in. "Listen. Hey, listen."

"I'm listening. Fuck."

"One, we're both still hard. I mean, we should seriously take care of that. It's not healthy."

"And people actually fall for that one?" Patrick's voice was icily polite. Andy ignored this, touching him on the side of his face almost reverently with just the tips of his fingers, stroking down the soft hair of the nearest side-burn. He smiled as Patrick's lips parted at his touch, turning his head slightly in the direction of Andy's hands.

"Two, you're not giving me a chance to catch up." He smiled at Patrick's confused blink. "Yeah, you know. You said it, that you were gone past _one_ stage, right? And its not the only one. So that could mean that you're at another stage. More emotional. Am I right? I could be wrong, but you could have kicked me out ten minutes ago, so... I think I'm right."

Patrick just looked at him, a long solemn moment in which Andy could hear time slipping lazily through the beat of his heart and draw it close to the steady sound of Patrick's breathing, weaving them into something that could be perfect, if they could only play the music right.

"And... I think I want to catch up. We just need to be practical about the whole thing." Andy spoke softly and one corner of Patrick's mouth quirked, his eyes starting to shine. "It doesn't have to work, though. At any level. Just remember that."

"But it can," Patrick put in suddenly, a smile blossoming on his face that made Andy forget that he was supposed to be dependable and level-headed. "We can _try_." He suddenly looked inexplicably shy and Andy kissed him again, because a person could only be so level-headed. Patrick moved towards him, returning the kiss fervently, his fingers spearing into Andy's hair. Maybe he could do this forever, Andy thought. Or until he got too old to care; and maybe beyond that. He could do this as long as Patrick--

As long as Patrick did _that_ with his mouth, swiping his tongue on the roof of Andy's mouth, pulling back to run it along the seam of Andy's mouth before plunging in again... and as long as he did _that_ with his hand, which was creeping down between them as they rocked against each other. He felt Patrick fumble at the waist-band of his boxers and Andy rolled atop him, raising his body a little away and exhaling against Patrick's mouth as warm fingers stroked hesitantly at the soft skin of his cock. After a few testing moves, Patrick's hand got a little more confident, twisting, pulling, rubbing the rough pad of a thumb lightly over the slit, then dragging the whole palm over, catching at some of the clear liquid gathered eagerly there.

"So good." Patrick's whisper was dark and sweet; Andy heard it mix with the roaring in his ears as he thrust against Patrick's hand, groaning as Patrick discovered that he liked having his hair tugged on with one hand as the other continued its lovely, tortuous dance. He felt his stomach and balls tighten, Patrick's persistent hand pushing him upup _up_ and over as he buried his face in Patrick's neck and inhaled that unique Patrick smell; he pressed his mouth to the skin there and tried not to groan too loudly as he shook, feeling Patrick's hand grow slick with his come.

"Fuck," he muttered as Patrick's firm hold slackened a bit, and then pulled away a little to wipe on Andy's boxers. Andy, who usually hated when he couldn't find a damp cloth to get rid of his mess instead of his clothes, found that he didn't have the energy at all to complain about this right now; he only had the presence of mind right then to mouth languidly at Patrick's collarbone under his shirt, lying limply on top of him, feeling as if he would just simply melt all over Patrick. " _Fuck_ ," he repeated and Patrick laughed shakily.

"That can be part of the deal too," Patrick said as he petted Andy's hair and then wriggled in discomfort. Andy went up on his arms and peered down at him. "If you want." Patrick was looking directly at him, the pupils of his eyes blown wide.

"I want. But... not yet." Andy sat back on his heels, allowing Patrick's hand to slip out of his hair by the movement and tugging at Patrick's pajamas. Patrick's mouth twisted a little, but he still planted his feet flat on the bed and tilted his hips up, allowing Andy to hook his fingers at the waist of the worn pajamas and drag them down, making sure that the boxers came along for the ride.

Patrick's blush was on again as Andy tossed the clothing away and looked down at him, memorizing his pale skin and his reddened lips and his flushed, still-hard cock, coarse curls of reddish-blond hair framing it. Andy bent forward without giving himself time to think and pressed his mouth to that line where groin and leg met, grinning into it as Patrick literally jumped in surprise. His musky scent filled Andy's nose and he pulled back, contemplating the rosy head.

"Wow, just," Patrick said and made a lot of loud moans as Andy wrapped his hand around his cock and began to pump, moving his wrist the way he liked it himself. Having a cock this close was kind of different than having it pressed hard against one's own crotch and Andy was still trying to decide if he liked it or not. He concluded that he liked it because _Patrick_ seemed to love that he was doing it and experimentally, he swiped his tongue against the skin between his fingers. Patrick's groan was strangled and Andy decided that very, very soon, he'd go down on Patrick, just to have him fall apart even more.

Just.. _now_ was for looking up and watching Patrick's mouth fall open, breathing so fast and hard as Andy jerked him off; then his lips snapped shut, bottom one trapped painfully between his teeth as his hips moved wantonly and then his whole body locked up, a low shivery groan escaping him as he came.

It was _amazing_ to watch. Andy slid up his body immediately and kissed him again, wanting to kiss him for a long time. Patrick put his hands on his shoulders, made a muffled, surprised sound and then began to quake with laughter.

"Um," he chuckled when Andy broke this kiss to see what was so funny. "I.. uh. There's... you know. Some of me. On you."

Andy raised his eyebrows, then twisted his head to look at that where Patrick was pointing on his shoulder. There was indeed come on his shoulder, milky-white and sticky against the colorful ink of his tattoos. He looked back down at Patrick, whose eyes were just _watering_ with repressed laughter and as Andy kissed him senseless again, he decided that this whole night would just be the two of them. Tomorrow, Mixon would look in his face and know everything, Mix being probably the only person in the world who could see past whatever mask he had; Mixon would probably tell the rest of the band, then Pete would either look pleased, look confused or make threats (or all at the same time) and Joe would just shrug and grin.

But tonight, as Patrick cuddled close and seemed to enjoy feeling Andy's heartbeat under his fingers, and as he plucked idly at Patrick's flyaway hair, tonight was just for the two of them.

 _fin_


End file.
